


A Seamus Thing

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Romance, Sexual Identity, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-04
Updated: 2004-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Seamus share a tent at the Quidditch World Cup during <i>Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Seamus Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HP Rarepairs community on LJ. Challenge: _First Times_

"Dean?"

"...mn?"

"Pst...Dean."

"...wha'?"

"You asleep?"

Dean Thomas opened his eyes. For a puzzled moment, he had no idea where he was—Seamus meant Hogwarts, but the air was cool and draughty and smelled of clover—and then the darkness began to clear, and he recalled the little bedroom in back of the charmed tent, and the campground, and the Quidditch World Cup in less than two days.

He swallowed a yawn and stretched. "I _was_."

"Oh." A dim grey shadow swung down towards him: Seamus dangling head first off the top bunk. The flash of a grin in the dark. "You were only asleep for a minute, then. Weren't even snoring yet."

The bed creaked, and he heard Seamus drop lightly to his feet. Then he was quickly rolling over to avoid being trampled when Seamus clambered up beside him.

"Ouch!" He shielded his ribs. "Watch the knees, mate!"

"Sorry." Seamus was plucking at the blankets. "Budge up."

"What?" He frowned, scrubbing at his bleary eyes. "Why?"

"I'm cold, and I can't sleep. Let me in."

Dean paused. "Is...is this some kind of wizard thing?"

"Hm?" Seamus yanked the edge of the sheet out from under him.

He clutched the comforter firmly to his chest. "'Cause I gotta tell you, it definitely isn't a Muggle thing, crawling into another bloke's bed in the middle of the night."

A snort. "It's a Seamus-is-cold thing. Christ, you weigh a tonne. Don't you care that I'm freezing my arse off here?"

"Not a bit."

"Prat."

"Prick."

"Aw, go soak your head," Seamus shot back amiably, wrangling the comforter from him just long enough to worm his way under.

A pair of ice-block feet pressed against Dean's leg, making him shiver.

"See..." Seamus yanked the covers up to their chins. "...you're cold too."

Dean sighed, decided he wasn't quite awake enough to argue, and grudgingly made room as Seamus fooled around with the bedclothes, sorting out the sheet from the blanket from the comforter, humming off-tune under his breath and apparently not thinking anything was remotely odd about the whole 'two boys in one bed' thing.

He shrugged. Fair enough. Sometimes it was easier just to go along with Seamus. This probably was a wizard thing, anyhow. He remembered reading somewhere that back in the Middle Ages, people used to sleep ten to a bed. He supposed he was just lucky they both didn't have to sleep with Seamus's mother. She scared him a little.

"Okay," he said, as Seamus tugged half the pillow out from under him. "But no hogging the covers."

"Thanks mate, you're the best."

He came to regret it barely two seconds later. Seamus set to burrowing in, all knees and wriggling, and Dean realised with a sudden blush that there was a whole lot of skin rubbing up against him. Arms and legs—Seamus in a singlet and shorts and Dean only in his skivvies—and yeah, all right, he knew it was just Seamus, but it was dark, and that was still a lot of bare parts to be moving about all willy-nilly.

He inched away as far as he could, until he was touching the wall. After an eternity of moving around, Seamus finally settled down with a huff.

Dean quietly sighed. Much better.

He closed his eyes and snuggled down into the blankets. At the very least, Seamus was right; he _had_ been a little chilled before, but now he was warming up fast with his own human-sized blast furnace installed beside him.

It was quiet for one minute, and then another. Dean was definitely awake, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do with his arms. He'd folded them across his chest, and now there was no room to stretch out. He could feel Seamus softly breathing against the side of his neck. It was cosy. But weird.

"Dean?"

Seamus poked him in the shoulder.

"Dean, whatcha thinking about?"

Dean sighed. "I'm thinking that the proper way to share a bed is to lie very still-like and talk about football. Or Quidditch."

"Oh. Is that a Muggle thing?"

"I guess."

Seamus seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he exploded in a flurry of bedclothes, launching himself at Dean and clinging like a limpet, pinching and poking and tickling every spot he could reach. The whole bunk rocked on its legs.

"I'm only half-Muggle," he declared happily as Dean fought to throw him off.

"Bloody hell!" he squawked. Seamus was climbing right on top of him.

And to his horror, he felt a very familiar twitch as his dick chose this moment to add up half-naked and wrestling and bed and come up with entirely the wrong conclusion. He kneed Seamus in the side.

"Half-Muggle—" he yelped, "—you're half crushing my arm here! Come on, I mean it—you'll wake up your mum!"

For a terrifying moment it seemed like he'd have to boot Seamus clear off the bed to keep those hands from wandering any lower, but something in his voice must have made it clear he meant business. Seamus heaved a sigh and made a big show of sitting up so Dean could pull free.

Dean gave his arm a rub for appearances and then quickly jammed his dick in between his legs as he laid back down on his side. Seamus promptly curled up beside him, sharing the pillow. Their knees bumped. The cold feet were back.

"You're always so lovely and warm," Seamus said. "It's a real gift. Gifts are meant to be shared." He nestled in closer, then threw a lazy arm around Dean's middle, making a little happy noise.

Dean's stomach gave a funny lurch. "What are you doing now?"

"Helping you share." Seamus puffed a warm breath against his neck.

"You're a real mate," he muttered.

Soft hair was brushing up under his chin, smelling like flowery shampoo. A girly kind of smell. Yeah. That was why his dick was still trying to twitch its way to freedom.

"You're comfy," Seamus sighed. "I like this."

Dean swallowed hard. Seamus had started to draw little circles on his bare back.

_Frogs' guts_, he thought. _Bubotuber pus_..._worm gizzards_..._that slimy stuff that comes in newts_. This usually did the trick in Transfiguration, where he always managed to get at least one unfortunate hard-on before lunch.

Seamus was breathing deeper now. It tickled.

He squeezed his legs together only to find that his dick liked that more than he'd thought it would. He chewed his lip. It wasn't calming down anytime soon, and kicking Seamus out would likely only lead to another trademarked Finnigan Pounce.

All right, he decided. _This_ was why regular guys didn't share beds. Sometimes Muggles really had the right of it, because getting hard in bed with your best mate was probably a lot more wrong than getting hard behind your desk while Professor McGonagall lectured on turning worms into nails.

He shifted back, hoping to put a little space between them, which backfired when Seamus rolled right along with him. Dean retreated further until he hit the wall. _Stay_, he willed. But no luck. The bunk gave a groan, and their feet knocked together, and then Seamus was straightening out his legs, bringing him a _lot_ closer.

Dean scrambled, only managing to clunk his head against the bedpost. Seamus's knee hit his, and his legs got out of line, and there was some...popping.

And then some _pressing_.

He froze. He felt himself go hot to the tips of his ears, his eyes screwing up tight. _Oh God. Don't say a word_..._please, Seamus, for once in your life, just don't say one word_...

Seamus quickly inched back. "Um...Dean?"

He winced. "...yeah?"

"Have you got a stiffie?"

Denial was his first instinct, and a firm _no!_ nearly tripped off his tongue, but something in the tone of Seamus's voice made him bite it back. His brain sort of paused, then rewound. He was thinking of Seamus pushed up against him and subtracting two elbows and two knees from the number of things that had been poking into him.

His eyes widened.

"Kind of." He hesitated. "Er...you?"

"Um. Yeah," Seamus admitted, then sniggered.

So did Dean. A relieved grin split across his face. "Mind of its own, eh?"

The heavy weight that had been slowly suffocating him let up. Seamus gave him a consolatory pat on the back, still softly laughing under his breath.

Another moment passed, then: "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Seamus squirmed. Not nearer or away, just squirmed. Dean thought he heard him lick his lips.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?"

From the blush that he could nearly _hear_ in Seamus's voice, Dean guessed that mothers and aunties didn't count.

"Nah. You?"

"Yeah."

That surprised him a little. "Really? Who?"

"A boy."

That surprised him a lot. "Yeah?"

Seamus was lying very still now. Only his fingers were moving, drumming a nervous little rhythm against Dean's ribs. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Is that really weird?"

Dean considered it carefully. He'd never really thought about it before. He knew about queers all right, but only in a far-off sort of way, from the daytime shows his mum liked to watch and the things people said. He suspected it might be one of those things that grown-ups didn't really want you knowing about. A couple of years ago, Dean had thought that everybody who had sex before they were married got horrible diseases that made their bits fall off. Only a few years before that, he'd still believed in the stork.

But he remembered some of the jokes that his step-dad and his mates liked to tell. Insults on the football field.

"For Muggles, yeah, I think," he finally said. "My step-dad would thrash me if he ever thought I kissed a bloke."

It didn't occur to him until after the words had left his mouth that his step-dad thought magic was weird too.

He felt Seamus stiffen and quickly added. "But, uh, maybe it's all right with wizards?"

"I dunno." Seamus went quiet for a moment. "No one ever tells you, do they. You ever think about that? I mean, we're both, aren't we. Or neither. Mostly wizard but sort of different, yeah?"

Dean knew what he meant. He thought about it a lot, actually. Especially in summer, when coming home felt strange now and going back to Hogwarts was normal. When his family seemed to get along just fine without him, and he didn't know any of the programmes on the telly anymore, and his little sister had to show him how to use the new computer at the library.

"Yeah," he said. "So who was he? When'd you do it?"

He felt Seamus's hand move around underneath the covers, reminding him of his own throbbing problem.

"My cousin Jack. Just after school let out, my aunt and uncle came to stay with us for a week."

Dean had to blink. "Your cousin? Er...isn't that, like, incest?"

"Not for kissing," Seamus said defensively. "You're just not supposed to marry them unless you've got to, or else you might have a Squib or a half-wit or something. Kissing's all right, though."

"I guess. So how'd it happen?"

"I dunno. We were just hanging about in the garden, talking, you know. And he asked if I'd ever kissed a girl, and I said no, and he asked if I'd ever kissed a boy, and I said no. And then he asked if I wanted to kiss him, and I said all right. So we did."

"Huh." Dean had cousins. He couldn't really see that sort of thing coming up. Something else occurred to him, and he frowned. "How old's he?"

"Sixteen. He goes to Beauxbatons—his mam's from Belgium."

Dean could only imagine a taller Seamus, sandy-haired and fit. He pictured them kissing like in the movies, head tilted and mouths open, arms around each other, only you never saw two blokes kissing in the movies. It made him sort of antsy, thinking about it. He moved his leg a little, and his dick jerked up, rubbing against the inside of his pants.

"Was it..." _Good_, he meant to ask. "...I mean, what was it like?"

He could feel Seamus shrug. "It was all right, I guess. He'd just eaten a mutton sandwich. I can't stand mutton."

Dean chuckled. "But was it good? I mean, was it like a proper kiss?"

"Dunno. He's my cousin. Won't know until I kiss someone else, I guess."

And this time, when neither of them said anything, it was a _full_ sort of pause, like something big was lurking right below the surface. Dean was thinking about Seamus kissing someone. He was thinking about being in bed with a hard-on, and Seamus being in bed with a hard-on, and the two of them in the same bed, which was something else entirely.

"Dean?"

His heart began to pound.

"Yeah?"

"You ever kiss a girl?"

He licked his lips.

"Nope."

"You ever kiss a boy?"

He needed to touch himself in the worst way.

"Nope."

He heard Seamus swallow.

"You...want to kiss?"

He really did.

"All right."

Seamus let out a great sigh, like he'd been holding it in forever.

It took a moment for either of them to move. Then Seamus crept a bit closer, and Dean tilted his head a little. In the dark, he could just make out Seamus's eyes, bright and glittering. He could feel the warm breath against his lips.

And in films, there was always that swoop, where everything went diagonal and one person kissed while the other got kissed. But he and Seamus just ended up meeting in the middle of the pillow, and their noses bumped at first, but then their lips were touching, all soft and moist, and it sent a shiver all the way down Dean's throat.

Seamus pulled back for a second, just long enough to mutter, "Open your mouth, just a bit."

Dean wet his lips and parted them. They kissed again, and this time it came with a swipe of tongue. _French kissing_, he thought. He tried it too, and their tongues touched, which felt wet and rubbery but not as gross as he would have expected. His whole mouth was tingling, and in the back of his mind was the oddly exciting knowledge that he'd only have to move forward an inch to know if Seamus was as hard as he was.

The kiss broke with a wet smack, but neither of them moved back. They lay face to face on the pillow, their noses nearly touching. Dean's chest felt tight.

"So?" he asked, wondering how that measured up. If it actually got better.

"Well, you don't taste like mutton. Plus you've got bigger lips."

"Seamus!"

"What?" Seamus sounded miffed. "I didn't mean it like a black thing, did I? I meant it like a Dean thing."

"A Dean thing."

"Yeah." Seamus drew a spiral on his shoulder blade. "A 'Dean, my best mate in the whole world, who's got better lips than Cousin Jack' thing."

Dean got gooseflesh.

"You are so weird," he said, but he choked on it. Then he was the one pushing his hips forward, and he was hard, and Seamus was hard, and they touched.

Seamus made a harsh sound in his throat, like Dean had never heard before. His arm around Dean tightened. "What do you, um, want to do?"

Dean's heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of his chest. He could feel Seamus's dick right up against his, and all he knew was that he really didn't want to stop. He hesitantly put a hand on Seamus's waist. There was a little gap of naked skin between his clothes. Really soft.

"I dunno," he said honestly. "What do you want to do?"

"Dunno," Seamus whispered. But his fingers very slowly started creeping down Dean's side. Inch by inch, rubbing back and forth.

Dean was too afraid to move, half-terrified Seamus would stop, half-terrified he'd keep on going just like that, lower and lower. He'd never been this hard before without touching himself. It hurt in a good, sick, pounding way.

They kissed again—he didn't know which one of them started it—and then Seamus was rolling back, pulling Dean with him. Dean wound up sprawled on top, his own weight pushing his dick hard into Seamus's hip. Seamus's was jammed against his belly, twitching, hot.

It hurt to swallow, but he had to. Kissing again meant no talking. He leaned down and miraculously found Seamus's lips in the dark, and it was different on top with lips mashing hard against his teeth and their chests flat together. Seamus's mouth opened up for him, hot and slick and tasting like chocolate frogs. Then Seamus sort of bucked up against him, and his hand came around Dean's neck to hold him there, and something deep down in Dean's belly caught fire when his tongue was _sucked_.

It was really weird. But good.

He felt like he was burning all over as he ground his lips against Seamus's, and he couldn't help himself: when Seamus's other hand curved over his arse and rocked him, he went with it, went with Seamus, rocking and rubbing desperately, nearly losing it with those wet, whimpery noises Seamus was making right into his mouth.

They were both quivering; he couldn't stop it. His dick started jerking blindly when Seamus wriggled a hand between their bodies. There was a speedy muddle of feet and hands as they tried to drag their shorts down, and then they both rolled back onto their sides, legs tangled.

Barely a moment of hesitation, and then Dean was grabbing Seamus and Seamus was grabbing him, and they both just sort of shuddered at the feel of it. Then Dean moved his grip a little and...God, it was different. Seamus's hand was warm and damp and rougher than Dean's own, and his dick felt different somehow, and it was so hard, and the curls at the base of it were really soft. It was awkward at first, giving it a rub from the wrong way around, but he turned his hand and got the knack of it. Just quickly enough, it turned out, because the second Seamus started stroking him, his brain went haywire.

He moaned softly, burying his face in Seamus's hair and breathing in the soap and sweat smell of him. Seamus didn't pull hard and fast like he did, and the soft, sneaky pleasure was driving him mad. He tried his best to return the favour and felt a shaky smile on his lips when Seamus shivered. The feel of it hit him like nobody's business.

"Do it tighter," he managed to whisper, those little teasing strokes too much to handle.

Seamus obligingly closed his fist and then—oh, then it was squeezing and tugging—he couldn't remember ever being so turned on in his life. It _ached_, and his whole body felt thin-skinned and swollen. Their knuckles kept colliding, and every few strokes something else would brush against him, so torturously exciting he could barely breathe.

He knew he was close. His thighs were trembling, and his hand sped up on its own, as though it still thought he was tossing himself off. Seamus made a soft, startled sound, and he felt the first hot spurt on his fingers barely a second before his own body spasmed. He came hard, biting down to stifle himself. He couldn't breathe, it was so intense. Couldn't move, only let his hips jerk about on their own, the blood rushing in his ears and the rocky shocks of pleasure battering him over and over.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," Seamus was whispering.

He was blind for a very long time, lying perfectly still, dimly aware of being hot, of being touched. He could feel the unsteady beat of Seamus's racing heart echoing in his chest. His hand was wet all over. His dick was going soft, very satisfied and smug. The room smelled like how his sheets did after a sexy dream, times two.

Seamus cleared his throat, then fell silent. Then he cleared it again.

"Did we just..." he sounded hoarse and shaky. "...I mean, do you think this counts as, um, doing it?"

Dean had to catch his breath to reply. "Dunno. I think so." He paused. "I'm wiping my hand off on your shirt, just so you know."

"That's okay," Seamus muttered sleepily. "Already wiped mine on your shorts."

He laid his arm back around Dean's middle and sighed. He started to snore barely a minute later.

Dean rolled his eyes. He wiped his hand clean and then, waiting a moment to make sure Seamus was really asleep, experimentally licked the last bit off his fingers. It tasted kind of...bleachy. Not bad, really. Just weird. He fumbled about, getting his pants back on—yeah, the waistband was sticky. He briefly considered waking Seamus and telling him to put his dick away, but he couldn't be bothered. A yawn cracked his jaw.

His eyelids were heavy, but his brain was racing a hundred miles a second. He took his time settling in, pulling the covers up around them, thinking. Seamus stirred a little but didn't wake.

Dean lay with his eyes open in the dark for several minutes, looking at Seamus's shadowy face. His heartbeat was slowing, but it thumped just as loudly in his ear. He was sleepy, and Seamus was warm and steady beside him. He felt really, really good.

And, he decided as he closed his eyes, he maybe wouldn't mind doing this again sometime. Not the queer thing; he was too tired to even tackle the thought of kissing Harry or Ron or Neville. But the Seamus thing was good.

Weird, maybe. But then, when was his life not weird?

Yeah, he thought, just before he slipped comfortably into sleep. The Seamus thing was a bit of all right.


End file.
